1 Working for money.

"Get yourself up here, young one!" yelled the fairly aged man at Devon, a teenage lad who had just brought back his crate.

"I understand... there's no need to resort to such names," Devon responded as he hopped onto the truck. He retrieved one of the crates containing a vintage red wine and handed it over to the man.

"Listen, I compensate you... It matters little what labels I use," the man remarked as he received the crate and hurried into the store.

Devon could only let out a sigh. He had grown accustomed to this kind of treatment from folks. He couldn't be bothered as long as he received his compensation.

As thoughts of payment occupied his mind, his thoughts wandered back to his debts. 'I still have to settle with him, then there's the electric bill and my sister's school fees. Thankfully, Dad has a house; otherwise, I'd have to handle that too,' Devon pondered. Reflecting on the stress he was under, he gently rested his hand on his neck.

--1

Around his neck hung a regal amethyst gem, delicately tethered by a slender cord. This precious keepsake was the final offering from his beloved mother, bestowed upon him before her untimely departure.

Vividly, he could recall her words from that poignant day.

"This gemstone was bequeathed to me by my esteemed grandfather. He imparted that this jewel bestows unparalleled strength and unwavering courage in one's direct hours," she had imparted.

Devon studied the gemstone with meticulous attention, reverently tucking it back into the folds of his garment. "It's a lament that its true worth remains undiscovered, for had it possessed tangible value, I might have exchanged it for a fair sum," he murmured softly to himself.

Thinking of his mother invariably evoked memories of his father, an indomitable figure whose extraordinary feats would forever linger in his thoughts.

When Devon was just ten years old, his father found himself behind bars, and around the same time, his mother sadly passed away. Although Devon couldn't comprehend the exact reasons, he had a strong belief that his father's incarceration was somehow linked to his mother's fate.

At the tender age of ten, Devon found himself in the daunting role of being both his own caregiver and that of his younger sister, who was just a year junior to him.

Devon's knowledge of his family tree was virtually non-existent, for the only person he had any familiarity with was his cherished sister. Their bond had grown deep, and he made it his solemn duty to protect and provide for her, as she held the utmost significance in his life.

Devon often retreated into his daydreams, his mind crafting imaginary worlds to escape the harsh reality. However, his reverie was abruptly shattered when his boss returned.

"Hey there, kid! Snap out of your daydream and pass me those crates!" his boss bellowed, bringing Devon back to the present moment.

"sorry!" Devon responded as he swiftly picked up some crates and delivered them to his boss.

Meanwhile, a couple of hours passed, and Devon embarked on his journey back home. Clutched in his hand was a wad of cash, which he meticulously counted as he made his way.

Devon pondered, "This is why I enjoy working for him so much; he really pays me quicker than any of my other bosses." He carefully stashed the money into his pocket.

One of Devon's many part-time gigs involved unloading crates from trucks, a task he balanced with several other jobs he took on after school hours. His primary aim was to provide for both himself and his sister.

He extracted his phone from his pocket to check the time.

"Oh my goodness, I'm running late!" Devon exclaimed with anxiety, quickening his pace as he dashed down the street toward his destination.

Before too long, he reached a fast-food establishment. It was yet another of Devon's part-time positions, primarily involving dishwashing duties.

Upon his arrival, Devon muttered curses under his breath upon realizing there were few customers present in the restaurant.

He pondered, "This won't be easy."

It seemed like the universe conspired against him. When he pushed open the restaurant's entrance, he encountered a plump man wearing a white chef's hat atop his head. An apron concealed his ample abdomen, and he gripped two sharp meat knives.

"Boss!" Devon exclaimed, his astonishment evident.

"Ahhha... You're late... you grasp what that implies?" the chef remarked, grinning.

"But..." Devon attempted to clarify but was swiftly interrupted.

"No excuses... 30% deducted from your pay today, end of story," the chef declared, making his way behind the counter.

"Now, go attend to some dishwashing; I require them right away," the chef hollered.

Devon hung his head, trudging towards the kitchen as if life had been drained from him. Upon arrival, a stack of dishes awaited him, ready for washing.

Devon couldn't help but feel frustrated about the hefty 30% deduction from his money for all these dishes, thinking it was unfair. Though he wanted to voice his frustration loudly, he decided to change into his work clothes instead.

While he was diligently washing the dishes, he heard an excited voice coming from his colleagues. When he glanced over, he saw his coworkers engrossed in a reality show called Beast Fighters.

"This is amazing! Did you see that? He picked a gauntlet as his weapon," one of his coworkers exclaimed enthusiastically.

"They call him Iron Fist, and his weapon is considered Tier 3," another person chimed in.

"Tier 3? Seriously? How powerful is a Tier 3 weapon?" someone asked in disbelief.

Devon could only watch them with envy. He was a devoted fan of the show, but unfortunately, he couldn't join in the fun right now.

The Beast Fighters were a special group of people who battled mutated beasts. After defeating a beast, its body would be transformed into a weapon, granting its wielder incredible power.

It had been the utmost desire of most youngsters to turn into a Beast Fighter and possess a fearsome weapon of their very own. Devon was no exception to this yearning.

The predicament was that he lacked the brawn to engage in combat against a mutated creature, let alone terminate one. Nor did he possess the funds to acquire such a weapon.

All he could do was observe those fortunate enough to wield a beastly armament and yearn to emulate them. Additionally, Devon had heard rumors that Beast Fighters received substantial remuneration. Undoubtedly, this was one of the reasons he had perpetually aspired to become a Beast Fighter.

Concerning the reality show, it was an occasion when potent Beast Fighters would broadcast their confrontations with actual beasts and share them on the internet. Coincidentally, one of the most renowned Beast Fighters, Iron Fist, was live-streaming his encounter.

Naturally, Devon was enticed to sneak a glimpse at the others. However, at that very moment, he discerned the chef standing at the kitchen entrance, observing the revelry.

"Well, well, well… it appears I shall be economizing a significant sum today," the chef remarked with a grin.

Instantly, the broadcast was halted, and expressions of trepidation overcame the onlookers. Devon covertly expressed gratitude that he had not been counted among the others. If he had, yet another deduction would have been subtracted from his earnings, potentially leading him to financial ruin.